


Sparkin' Eh?

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [30]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Spanking, Sulking, Tessera, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 30: Spark. Sam's doing a little extra training, and trying to keep his temper.  But there's some sparkin' going on... Follows prompt 29.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparkin' Eh?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

Sam wakes with Dean’s arm flung over his chest, he just vaguely recalls Dad strong-arming him into the bedroom at some obscene hour in the middle of the night, covering him up and sitting down until Sam passed out again. He wiggles over so that he’s a little tighter into Dean, but the motion wakes his brother up. It must be late, if Dean’s that marginally awake.

“What’re you still doing in bed,” comes the sleepy mumble.

Sam can’t think of a good reply, so he shifts and sneaks in a kiss, which is returned with interest. Dean starts to roll, to pull Sam on top of him, and stifles a yelp. His younger brother can’t help but giggle, and Dean eyes him with something akin to displeasure.

“I don’t see why he didn’t blister your ass, too.”

Sam shrugs. “Lemme see.”

“No!”

“C’mon,” Sam begs. “It’s sexy, you know?”

Dean covers his head with a pillow, glad he’s on his stomach, and his erection is covert for the moment. “Sam, we can’t.”

Sam’s whining within thirty seconds. “I don’t care. You kiss me, we could just stick to that.”

“Leave it, Sam, or I’ll beat your ass.”

“C’mon, Dean, just a kiss-“ He throws the pillows out of Dean’s reach, looking at his brother’s green eyes. Dean sighs. “Deaaaaan, please?” The soft plea sparks a memory.

They were in San Francisco, rooting out a haunting that they left well enough alone when they found where the spirit was buried. They’d decided no harm would come from leaving it, because there was no way they were doing a high profile hunt on Alcatraz. Just no way. They did what they could to bind the spirit to the island, and once they were sure that the binding had worked, they’d gone downtown. They were walking along the street together, and Dean had tired of listening to Sam’s dissatisfaction with the hunt, with how difficult it was to get onto the island, how many more spirits probably needed to be salted and burned. Dean had yanked Sam into an alley, pressed in a kiss, told him to quit bitching or he wouldn’t be getting any that night. Sam had huffed one of his trademark sighs, then fingered the leather bracelet he wore, and reached out, pulling Dean in for a deeper kiss, letting his hands wander. Sam had wanted to go down on him, begging just the way he had a few minutes ago, and Dean had been stern, simply kissing him and telling him no. He’d hauled Sam back onto the street, and walked past a grey-haired man in a leather jacket, seated on a bench. They’d both been startled when the man looked at them and laughed.

“Sparkin’ eh? Best thing for ye – take that young’n home and kiss him good now, boy.”

Dean chuckled at the memory, and Sam’s pleading look turns sulky, and he rolls over, turns his back on his aggravating older brother. Dean rests a palm on his shoulder.

“Cut it out. You reminded me of that old geezer in ‘Frisco.” Sam laughs despite himself, and turns back around.

“I’m tired of not being able to…”

“You think it’s any picnic from the inside?”

The door opens, and both boys jump, rife with misplaced guilt. John’s amusement is plain to see.

“Why don’t you boys get your day started? We need to talk about where we’re headed, Tess said Dean’s nearly good to go.” Sam’s sulk is back in place again, and shoulders past his father to head for the shower. John takes a seat, pushes Dean back down. “We need to talk about your brother. You didn’t tell me the nightmares were so bad again, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “We cope, Dad.”

“You’re done coping,” John says in perfect drill sergeant tone, watching his son sigh. “Sam’s got some extra PT in the afternoons to wear him out.” The frown that crosses Dean’s face surprises him. It’s not usual for Dean to want to argue with him, not so soon after a reprimand like he’d been given yesterday.

“Dad, you’ve tried that before. It doesn’t work, remember? You just about killed him with it when he was seventeen.”

“I’m not talking about pushing him into the ground. Tess said she swims to keep fit, she’s gonna have Sam join her. And I want you boys doing an extra hour of training from here on out.” That’s not too bad. They’ve been slacking a little, and Dean’s going to need it, to get back in good form after lounging around against his will for three weeks. “And we’re gonna talk to Jim and Missouri, see what we can do with the rest that the PT won’t take care of. I don’t like it, Dean, those abilities of his, he needs to be in better control.”

Dean’s nodding slowly. It’s something he agrees with, something he hasn’t been able to coax Sam into. He’s thought to himself a number of times that Sam knows how to meditate, and tried to coax Sam into trying it, and just gotten a series of dirty looks for his trouble. It’s one of the things he doesn’t push with his brother, one of the subjects that’s too frightening, or too sensitive, take your pick. He feels guilty until he shifts and the scrape of cotton across his rear end reminds him of the spanking he got yesterday, and then relates the idea to his father.

“Look for a hunt out Jim’s way, or Missouri’s way,” comes John's answer.

“Sam hasn’t been looking for a hunt?” Dean hasn’t kept an eye on what Sam’s been doing, hasn’t been able to summon up the energy.

“No. Been researching – Tess has a pretty extensive library.”

“You haven’t said anything to him about that?”

John grins. “No. He’s good at it, Dean, all those protective spells he dug up while he was at Stanford? I figured it’s better to let the boy have his head when he’s got an opportunity like this, let him do what he’s good at. Tess said if you’re not up to it, you’re not up to hunting in a couple days.”

Dean rubs at the back of his arm, and John swats his hand away. Both of them offer up a prayer that nothing like this ever happens again, because it’s been harder than the time Dean had pneumonia as a boy – less danger, but Dean’s just beside himself, and it’s got all of them uptight. He’s blushing, and John wonders if they’ll be here for longer than just a few days.

“Sorry, Dad, it’s just hard to concentrate on much of anything.”

“Don’t apologize for that, Dean.” John takes a seat on the bed, wondering if he should ask or if Dean’s going to volunteer the information.

Sam slinks back into the room to dress, still sulky. It’s a look that’s plagued John for the entire twenty odd years of Sam’s existence, though lately Dean’s kept his brother in line. John’s not going to tolerate it though, reaches out for the boy, yanking him across his lap and placing a half a dozen hard swats on the boy’s squirming, boxer-clad bottom.

“Lose the attitude. Go get some breakfast on the table, it’s nearly ten, and then you can go back to whatever you were doing.”

Maybe they should ask Sam what it is he’s researching, he thinks, find out what the reluctance is about. He gets an eyeroll from his boy, and is about to pull him back over his knee, when Dean sits next to him, shakes his head slightly. John ignores it, but takes half of the unspoken advice.

“Samuel.”

Sam smirks at his father, and John wishes briefly he’d added a couple swats, at least until the boy answers.

“We’re not allowed to go back to what we’re doing, Dad.” And Sam’s out the door before John can give in to the impulse. He sighs and turns to his older son to continue the conversation, but before he can speak, he has to stop and smile at the spark of amusement in Dean’s eyes.


End file.
